


The Last Battle

by KittyHawke



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, First Meetings, Mild Gore, The battlefield is no place for kindness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 07:47:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyHawke/pseuds/KittyHawke
Summary: At the Siege of Jerusalem, Yusuf comes up against a curiously impenetrable Crusader. What does one do with an enemy who won't leave you alone?
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95





	The Last Battle

**Author's Note:**

> I know everyone in this fandom has done their spin on this, but I wanted to do it too, and it seems a shame to waste the effort by not sharing. Inaccuracies are inevitable, though I do apologise if anything stands out as being really incorrect. This is simply another idea of how it could have happened. Please check the tags and I hope you enjoy.

The siege will end soon. Ever since the Genoese ships arrived with supplies, it has been clear that the final battle for the city is imminent. The Franks have been frighteningly persistent, building their siege towers no matter how many men are lost to the defenders, rebuilding the ones which are destroyed again and again. It has been three weeks and it all comes down to this.

The centre of the fighting takes place several metres from the city walls, as the invaders try to push forward for the gates and the defenders of Jerusalem try to hold them back. Every siege tower is surrounded by men, their protectors and attackers locking blades. Defenders along the city walls are firing arrows. Just beyond the gate, they are preparing molten metal to pour upon any Franks who get inside.

It is Yusuf’s job to ensure that no-one does.

He clashes with one Frank, pulls his sword down and slices his throat in one swift movement. Another sword comes at him. He ducks the blow, drives the point of the scimitar upwards and guts the man like a fish at market. When he turns, it is to the sight of another hate-filled face and a blade lifted high to come down upon his skull. He spins and the momentum drives his sword deep into the man’s stomach. The surprise on his face is amusing, the trickle of blood that comes out of his mouth when he tries to speak, the sword still held uselessly and foolishly above his head. Yusuf turns the sword slowly inside him, gaining sadistic pleasure from the pain in his eyes. He feels no pity. This man gave up his claim to be called human when he invaded Yusuf’s land, destroyed its cities and massacred its people.

“Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.”

He hopes the man understands his mocking tone, even if not the words. When he tears the sword out, half of the Frank’s guts come with it and his mouth falls open in horror before he dies. Yusuf cleans the blade on his enemy’s tabard and turn to survey the battlefield.

He is ready to pick off anyone who gets too close. Those stupid red crosses that the invaders wear ensure that he can see them coming long before they’re in range, and so far, only small groups have broken through the defensive lines and are rushing the gate. Yusuf is part of yet another line of defence, cutting them down and thinning their numbers. He can hear the screams of the unlucky few who have made it all the way to Jerusalem, only to be boiled alive by steaming silver liquid.

He has killed five more Franks when he is hit for the first time, a savage pain in his shoulder as an arrow strikes. He grips the shaft, steels himself and pulls it out, whimpering at the pain. Agony shoots through his shoulder as he tries to move it and he is grateful that the arrow has struck his left arm, not the one he needs to fight. He turns to find the archer responsible. It may be a misguided shot from one of his own, but he never has the chance to find out.

He can’t believe his eyes. Striding towards him, face twisted with anger, is a face he has seen before. Only a few minutes ago, in fact, and there is a pool of dried blood on his white tabard where Yusuf stabbed him. There is the indisputable evidence that it happened, but he is alive. He is alive. How is this possible? Is he a demon? Has their false god turned them to monsters? Yusuf wants to fall to his knees in fear, but he readies his courage and his sword. He will not let this terrible creature take one step closer to Jerusalem.

They circle each other, both waiting for the other to make a move. Yusuf loses patience first and lunges. The monster dodges and brings his sword down, slicing Yusuf’s right arm. He cries out and his weapon falls from his hand. Wasting no time, he throws himself bodily towards the enemy, intent on using his fists. He will die fighting if he cannot live. He manages to wrap one arm around the man’s neck, but the enemy’s sword arm remains free and the point of his blade pierces Yusuf’s groin. He collapses to his knees, the pain blinding him. Before he can form another thought, his head is pulled back forcefully and his throat is split. It burns like fire and turns cold like steel. He pulls in a breath and chokes on his blood.

He prays for Allah’s mercy.

**

He opens his eyes, confused and disoriented. Why is he lying on the ground? Has he awoken in Paradise? Why does Paradise look like the walls of Jerusalem? Suddenly screams and shouts and the whinnies of horses become audible and he lifts his head, staring in disbelief at the scene before him. He is still on the battlefield, mere inches from where his throat was cut. There is a thick pool of blood by his feet, between his legs. He lifts a hand to his neck and feels smooth skin, no scar tissue, nothing but dried blood to show for the attack. He sits up and frantically presses on his thighs, feeling no pain, no evidence of a wound. He realises that his arrow-pierced shoulder no longer hurts and his arms are both strong once more.

He is not only alive. He is healed completely.

How can this be? His first thought is that Allah has saved him, but that doesn’t explain the Frank’s similarly miraculous revival. Unless…What if their idol chose one of his people to be the standard bearer of destruction and Allah has responded? Yusuf could end the conflict and return peace to his land by destroying the infidels’ champion. Or perhaps this healing is truly the result of evil and that darkness has been passed into Yusuf.

Whichever is true, it is clear what he must do. He grabs his sword, rises to his feet and sets out across the battlefield.

Any enemies who attack him are dispatched as briefly as possible. He looks at their faces only long enough to determine that they are not the one he seeks. They are fortunate men, treated to swift and painless deaths which are far too good for them.

Yusuf catches sight of his quarry from a hundred metres distance. He is in profile and slightly turned away, but Yusuf knows him as he would know a member of his own family. The monster recognises him too. He turns as if he can sense Yusuf watching and his eyes widen with confusion, horror, fear. It is like looking into a mirror.

This time it is the Frank who attacks. He starts running and Yusuf sprints to meet him, their swords clashing with enough force to create sparks.

“What did you do to me?” he yells.

The demon shouts in his face and pulls his sword away before lunging forward to stab. Yusuf twists out of the way and grips the arm, tugging it down to meet his knee and snapping the bone in two. The demon screams in a way he has only ever heard animals do, dropping his weapon. Yusuf keeps hold of him and pulls him closer.

“What are you?”

A thin, boyish face with pale skin and green eyes, the colour of seawater, stare back at him. He has red spots on his face and Yusuf isn’t sure if they’re made from blood or sweat. He looks frightened, in pain, but the loathing in his eyes is as strong as ever.

It was a bad idea to get distracted.

The demon draws his foot up and slams it into Yusuf’s knee. It doesn’t hurt for longer than a second, but the surprise is enough to loosen his grip and his enemy ploughs into him, using his head to knock Yusuf to the ground. His momentum carries him forward and he falls too, landing on top of Yusuf and winding him. There is an agonised grunt in his ear and the man tries to get up, using his remaining good arm to roll away. Yusuf doesn’t give him a chance to stand. He sits up and, while the man is still lying prone on the ground, grabs his face in both hands and snaps his neck.

The triumph is absent this time. Yusuf looks down at him, breathing heavily. An expression of surprise is frozen on the man’s face and his green eyes gaze unseeingly. He looks so innocent in death. All of the darkness in him seems to disappear and Yusuf feels a strange sadness. He wonders who he was before evil claimed him.

“Stay dead” he orders, retrieving his sword and standing. He turns towards the sound of horse’s hooves and sees another of the Franks galloping towards him. He swings his weapon and it slashes the horse’s legs, causing it to rear and deposit its rider. It takes off and Yusuf advances on the man, cutting him down before he has a chance to unsheathe his sword.

When he turns around, the twice-killed man is climbing to his feet.

**

They fight for hours. The battle rages around them and they pay it no mind. He grabs a rock and caves his enemy’s skull in. His enemy brings him to the ground and stabs him with a dagger, viciously and repeatedly. Most memorably Yusuf kicks him into the path of a galloping horse. Nothing stops him. Nothing stops Yusuf. They stab and slash, kick and punch when they are disarmed. Yusuf only notices that the sun is going down when he can no longer see his enemy’s face. It has been coated in numerous layers of dry blood, turning it into a sight demonic enough to suit what lies within, but the clear green eyes remain until the sky is purple and the battlefield is strangely quiet.

Yusuf’s body aches all over. His wounds may heal, but his exhaustion only grows deeper every time he pulls himself off the ground and into another fight. His attacks are slowing, trying to keep the Frank away from him more than cause any damage.

He is taken to the ground again, his opponent’s speed matching his strength, and hands press down on his windpipe. Yusuf tries to kick him off, but his legs are pinned under the demon’s knees, a wrestling move that he would appreciate under different circumstances. He reaches up and wraps his hands around the man’s neck. They both squeeze the life out of each other in a twisted race of endurance and strength. Black spots dance across Yusuf’s vision and he puts all of his energy into his hands, feeling something break. He watches the eyes of his enemy become blank even as his grip refuses to loosen.

The pained look in that pale face is the last thing he sees. They kill each other at the same moment.

**

Yusuf gasps awake in the dark, moving his eyes around to check the immediate area before slowly sitting up. He sees the battlefield as if for the first time. The cacophony of fighting men has gone. He is the only living thing in sight, surrounded by bodies. Orange flickers in the night air and he turns, horrified by the sight of flames licking above Jerusalem’s walls. He can hear faint screams of pain and terror, women and children among them.

“No!” He scrambles to his feet and starts to run, only to stagger to a halt. It is too late. Jerusalem is lost. He turns and there it is, one of the bodies rising from the ground. He is no longer surprised.

“You! You did this!”

It is his fault too. He let himself be distracted by the demon, focused all of his attention on one man instead of working to protect the city. He let them down. But it is this man and his evil magic that is the cause of it all.

He grabs his sword from the ground and advances. He can’t kill this man, clearly, but he can hurt him and that is enough. Someone needs to pay.

The man makes no move to defend himself. He remains sitting on the ground, looking around with a bewildered expression.

“Are you satisfied?” Yusuf spits angrily. “Your people are in there, Christians and Jews. They are all being slaughtered.”

He isn’t sure whether the man’s look of surprise is due to the words or that Yusuf is speaking in Italian. He was once a merchant. He has traded with the Genoese before and he knows enough of their language to make a point.

“No…”

Something in that one word causes Yusuf to lower his arm. It is not a defiant argument, but a whisper, like a child trying to make-believe that the monster isn’t real.

“We wouldn’t harm our own. We are only fighting the infidels. They slaughtered all of the Christians before we came.”

“Whoever told you that is a liar” Yusuf says.

“The Pope told us,” he snaps, apparently offended on behalf of whoever that is. “You Muslims invaded the Holy Land and were murdering Christians. We came to stop your rampage.”

Yusuf scoffs. It’s a bitter, nasty sound. “And do you always believe what the Pope says?”

“Yes,” The man makes eye contact and refuses to break it. “Don’t you believe in your god’s orders?”

“And why would your god wish you to come so far to attack people who had done no harm to you?” Yusuf inquires sardonically.

“They are heretics. They were going to destroy us,” the man replies. “I don’t know any Christian who wouldn’t take up arms to defend the Church from heresy.”

“And yet we are savages for doing the same?”

He shrugs.

“They were people, living in peace, and you destroyed them. Look at this.” Yusuf points to the city, the flames, the wails and the shouts. “Do you think this is for the glory of God or the glory of men?”

The man seems to fold in on himself and Yusuf realises that he has achieved what he wanted. His enemy is defeated. There is no sense of victory.

“You believe I am wrong. I believe you are wrong. Why can we not allow each other to be wrong in peace?” he remarks. 

“Because those who don’t repent for their sins and accept God will burn in Hell.”

“Islam says that if I faithfully serve Allah, Paradise awaits me, and it is non-believers such as you who will suffer for eternity.”

The man looks at him in silence. “It seems you and I have already been rejected by our gods” he says at last.

“I believe this is true,” Yusuf agrees. “Perhaps this makes us equals.”

He sheathes the sword and sits down in front of the Italian. “My name is Yusuf Al-Kaysani.”

His enemy meets his eye. “Nicolo di Genova.”

“What do we do now, Nicolo?”

His face screws up. “We?”

“If you go back now, do you think your people will welcome you?”

Nicolo glances beyond him at the burning walls of Jerusalem and back.

“I know mine won’t,” Yusuf adds lightly. He looks back at the walls and sighs. “I have done what I can. This war is now over for me. I am going to steal a horse and vanish. You can come with me or make your own way.”

With that he stands, approaches one of the abandoned horses still trotting around the field and takes its reins. It huffs as he strokes its snout, speaking softly to reassure it, and calms down enough to be led towards Nicolo.

“You may need this” he says, handing the reins over and going in search of a horse for himself.

When he has mounted and is ready to go, he notices that Nicolo is still there, sitting on his horse and not moving. Of course, he is a foreigner with no local knowledge or language skills. Yusuf feels a twist of pleasure at how things have changed. Now a Frank is dependent on him and his mercy.

“Follow me,” he calls. “I will guide you to the port and you can find a boat back to Italy.”

“Why should I trust you?” Nicolo demands insolently, as if he has the right to display anything but blind obedience towards Yusuf.

“I clearly can’t kill you. Getting you out of the country is the next best thing.”

Nicolo kicks his horse forward without another word, following Yusuf with a careful ten paces between them.

He can’t believe what he is doing. Everything since the moment he woke at the foot of the walls has seemed to happen in a space that isn’t quite real. He is riding with his enemy, offering help to the man who slaughtered him. Alright, his help takes the form of getting him off these shores, but it would be easier to simply abandon him on the battlefield.

It’s illogical, but something about Nicolo moves him. He is far from home, entirely alone in a country where almost anyone who gazes upon him will want to kill him, and for some reason he and Yusuf share an inability to die. The first problem is Nicolo’s fault and Yusuf offers him no pity for that, but the second is a mystery and it is for that reason alone that he feels inclined to assist. Enemy or not, he feels they have a better chance of figuring this out together than apart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are always welcome. Have a good day.


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